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“Listen, have you ever tried kissing a dude?”
His hands were on his face, cradling his jaw. He was an arm's length and an entire ocean’s distance away, all at the same time. His cologne permeated the air, mixing into every oxygen atom he breathed in. He wished he could— breathe him in, every minute of his unworthy life. For this man, he wished he could stay here, in this moment, forever.
“Yes, I have.”
He was heavy in his lap, a comforting weight, akin to that of a heavy blanket on a cold winter day. Nothing had ever felt heavier and lighter at the same time, a rock and a feather all the same. The weight dragged him down, but he didn't mind being on his knees. He was Sisyphus, struggling to push the rock up, and feeling guilty peace as he walked down the hill again. The hill remained, and so did he.
“And how? Wow. Okay. Yeah. How did you like it?”
It was heaven and hell all the same. It was feeling the mercy of God while on his knees in Hell. Being near him was standing in the confessional, unable to confess his worst sin. It was agony and pleasure all the same. Only a sinner would know the pain of love and how fleeting it is.
"Same as a woman. I don't see the difference between it. It's just how you look at it. I mean, it's a matter of opinion as well."
He wasn't. He wasn't the same as a woman. There was a difference— so so many differences. He wouldn't ever be a woman, no matter how much he wished for him to be. He wished, and prayed, every night, to be normal— to love a woman, to make him a woman. He was so, so beautiful, and entirely not his.
"There's no difference between one another if you really look at it like that. If you love that person, you love that person. You don't love who they are. You love that character of them. You love their personality. You love the feature of them."
He really did love him. He didn't love him just because he was a man— but rather because he was so kind and wonderful. He was the sweetest, most deserving soul. He was the ray of light after an eternity spent stumbling through the dark. He was the small town that called to city boys in Hallmark movies. He was a fresh breath of air after years spent in stifling company.
He loved every feature of that man. From his hair to his smile, that man was worth everything. The way he knelt to talk to his sister, the way he helped anyone he could. He would give it all up for him. His family, himself, sunshine, everything. But not the Church, and not God. He couldn't. He was worth everything, and nothing.
"You're— you're looking at— you're looking as trying— to share one person to another when you can't. No one's the same. No one is."
Every lover he had was unique, none like the other. He, especially, was like none other he ever had. He wouldn't ever forget him, not even in death. Even in darkness, he would know him purely through touch, by smell. He would know him in both death and life. He would know him as a priest knows a sin, and as a sinner knows a virtue.
"Some— some might have rougher hands. Some might have softer lips."
His body was hard and outlined in his lap, the sharp angles cutting a striking picture, rivalling the angels on the walls of Versailles. He was the greatest piece of art ever created, sitting sated and shyly on top of him. The bright lights glared over the top of his hair, jealous of the boy who shone so bright in the darkness; he made the lights look dim in comparison.
His rough hands trailed all over his body, caressing every inch he could reach. He felt his eyes stinging at the weight— the physical confirmation that he was real, and not a figment of his imagination.
His chapped lips attacked his jaw, making him squirm under him. Those chapped lips travelled over his face, mapping it out as if it was the last time they would ever touch him again. It was. Never again had those beautiful, chapped lips cradled his own lips tenderly. Never again had he felt those heavenly lips travel over his face, encompassing him in sheer bliss. Never.
"You can't just sit there and say one is the same as the other. You can't— you can't compress that into—"
He was never the same after. That was one-of-a-kind love, the only you grab on to tight and never let go of. He let it go. And all for what? All to be the perfect Christian man, settling down with his wife in 5 years time, 2 kids and a picket fence. To go to work every week, spend countless hours thinking about what could've been.
At his wedding, he will recite the vows he wrote for him years ago. He will give him the first wedding card. He will inevitably slip up, imagining him standing there in front of him, instead of her. He will cry, and everyone will assume it's the happiness of the day or for her. Only he will know that those tears are for the secret he will keep locked up tight in his heart. He will look at her, and only feel apathy— nothing.
And when he's in his wife, all he will ever see is that man, in his head, cradling his face, kissing his jaw, holding him in his warm embrace. He will retreat to that safe space, imagining it's him that he's lying with. In every win, every loss, every right, and every wrong, he will forever turn to his right looking for him. And when he sees that empty space, he will play it off, turning left to look at his wife.
He will name his first child after him, the only way he could ever keep him in his life. He will wince every time he hears it, but will smile all the same. He will see his son grow up to be more and more like him with every passing day. He will see his son love another man, and fall out of love, just as he did. He will cry every night, praying for his son to find a different life.
He will witness death, yet his heart will only ever truly break at his lover's funeral. He would visit, after all time has passed, bringing flowers to his grave, hoping he dies there too, so at least he lies with him again. He will mention in his will to bury him under the same tree that he first kissed him under. He will die, feeling relief that this earthly torment was over. After he dies, he will enter through Heaven's Gates, smiling up at the man he loves once more.